Lessons my father taught me

Susan Hanley Lane

Susan Hanley Lane/Life in the Middle

Published: Monday, June 15, 2009 at 4:30 a.m.

Last Modified: Saturday, June 13, 2009 at 5:54 p.m.

My father dipped his fingers into the font of holy water, blessed himself as he genuflected, and slid into a pew in the back of St. Paul’s Church. Glints of softly muted color drizzled through the massive stained glass windows and spilled across his tired face. He leaned over and whispered close to my ear, “What are you doing?”

I smiled without looking at him and whispered back, “Visiting.”

He nodded his head silently. He himself had introduced me to the Friend I was visiting, and he well understood.

We knelt silently for awhile, each absorbed in our own thoughts. Finally, he broke the silence. “My car’s packed and I need to head out before the day’s shot.” His voice, gentle and quiet in the cool shadows of the waning afternoon sunlight, was tinged with sad resignation.

I nodded but did not look at him.

“It won’t be for long, Honey. I promise. Your Aunt Josie will take care of you, and as soon as school’s out, I’ll come and get you. You’re going to love the place where I’ll be working in Groton.”

I tried to smile but my father knew me well. “Sometimes when things hurt us Susie, it makes the next chapter all the sweeter.” He squeezed my hand and slid out of the pew. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

As I pulled the covers up over my shoulder and tried to scrunch myself into a comfortable position on the couch, a song playing on a neighbor’s radio drifted in through the open window of my aunt’s apartment.

“How I’ve waited for this moment to be by your side. Your best friend wrote and told me you had teardrops in you eyes… Daddy’s home, daddy’s home to stay.”

“… and that last number was Shep and the Limelighters with, Daddy’s Home. This is Murry the K’s Swingin’ Soirée comin’ back at’cha after these announcements.” In the bedroom, I heard my aunt murmur to my cousin, “Let me have more covers, Nancy. Goodnight Honey.”

She hadn’t thought to say goodnight to me. The knot that had made a home in my stomach threatened to bump into the lump in my throat. I closed my eyes. “Three more weeks,” I whispered to myself, wondering if the next chapter would ever really get here.

The road stretched out endlessly before us and I asked impatiently, “How much longer before we get there Daddy?

“It’ll be a while yet, Honey. It’s farther from New Jersey to Connecticut than you might think. But we’ll get there.” His blue eyes twinkled and after awhile, he began to whistle. I stretched out and put my head back against the seat. It didn’t matter how long it took really. As long as I was with my father, I knew I’d be OK.

“You know something Susie,” my father began in the tone he used when he wanted me to remember what he was going to say, “Sometimes it takes awhile to get where you’re going. But if you stay on the right road and keep putting one foot in front of the other, eventually you wind up in the right place.”

An hour later, as we neared a gas station just inside the Connecticut border, my father looked at me, then sighed and pressed his lips together firmly, “There’s something I need to tell you, Susie.

I didn’t look at him but my ears were at full attention.

“Your mother’s gotten remarried, Honey… she won’t be coming back.”

It was exactly the opposite beginning for the next chapter that I’d been praying for. Silently, my father filled the tank, paid, and got back into the car.

Later, as we neared our destination, my father took my hand and said quietly, “Life doesn’t always give us what we want, Susie. But it does give us time. And it may take awhile, but time heals all wounds.”

My father’s deep blue eyes blazed fiercely in their anger. “That sorry bastard, I’d like to kill him.” He slammed his beer can down on the kitchen table. “He’s not just leaving you, he’s deserting three helpless kids, the little…”

“Daddy, please, the kids will hear you.”

As he tried to take a deep breath, he began to cough. The bouts of coughing came more frequently now, and left him breathless and pale. When the doctors had operated, they’d closed him almost immediately. It was far too late to do anything but share as many moments as we could in the few months he had left.

“Remember what you always told me, Daddy?” I forced myself to say the words I wasn’t sure I believed anymore, “God knows what He’s doing.”

He nodded his head and a sad smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Yes He does, Sweetheart. It’s just hard to remember that sometimes.”

As I stood at my father’s grave, a warm May breeze caressed my wet cheek. Cold earth would now envelope the arms that had always held me up, the hands that had kept my hands steady.

“I guess we’re at a different kind of chapter,” I whispered to the mound of softly turned earth, “a beginning and an ending all rolled into one, huh?”

A shaft of sunlight crossed overhead and burned warm against my face. I must learn to walk differently now. A little shaky but straighter now, afraid, yet not alone.

My father left me a little over a hundred dollars, a watch, a wallet with my children’s pictures in it, and a tiny insurance policy.

<p>My father dipped his fingers into the font of holy water, blessed himself as he genuflected, and slid into a pew in the back of St. Paul’s Church. Glints of softly muted color drizzled through the massive stained glass windows and spilled across his tired face. He leaned over and whispered close to my ear, What are you doing?</p><p>I smiled without looking at him and whispered back, Visiting.</p><p>He nodded his head silently. He himself had introduced me to the Friend I was visiting, and he well understood.</p><p>We knelt silently for awhile, each absorbed in our own thoughts. Finally, he broke the silence. My car’s packed and I need to head out before the day’s shot. His voice, gentle and quiet in the cool shadows of the waning afternoon sunlight, was tinged with sad resignation.</p><p>I nodded but did not look at him.</p><p>It won’t be for long, Honey. I promise. Your Aunt Josie will take care of you, and as soon as school’s out, I’ll come and get you. You’re going to love the place where I’ll be working in Groton. </p><p>I tried to smile but my father knew me well. Sometimes when things hurt us Susie, it makes the next chapter all the sweeter. He squeezed my hand and slid out of the pew. I’ll call you when I get there.</p><p>As I pulled the covers up over my shoulder and tried to scrunch myself into a comfortable position on the couch, a song playing on a neighbor’s radio drifted in through the open window of my aunt’s apartment.</p><p>How I’ve waited for this moment to be by your side. Your best friend wrote and told me you had teardrops in you eyes Daddy’s home, daddy’s home to stay.</p><p> and that last number was Shep and the Limelighters with, Daddy’s Home. This is Murry the K’s Swingin’ Soirée comin’ back at’cha after these announcements. In the bedroom, I heard my aunt murmur to my cousin, Let me have more covers, Nancy. Goodnight Honey. </p><p>She hadn’t thought to say goodnight to me. The knot that had made a home in my stomach threatened to bump into the lump in my throat. I closed my eyes. Three more weeks, I whispered to myself, wondering if the next chapter would ever really get here.</p><p>The road stretched out endlessly before us and I asked impatiently, How much longer before we get there Daddy?</p><p>It’ll be a while yet, Honey. It’s farther from New Jersey to Connecticut than you might think. But we’ll get there. His blue eyes twinkled and after awhile, he began to whistle. I stretched out and put my head back against the seat. It didn’t matter how long it took really. As long as I was with my father, I knew I’d be OK.</p><p>You know something Susie, my father began in the tone he used when he wanted me to remember what he was going to say, Sometimes it takes awhile to get where you’re going. But if you stay on the right road and keep putting one foot in front of the other, eventually you wind up in the right place. </p><p>An hour later, as we neared a gas station just inside the Connecticut border, my father looked at me, then sighed and pressed his lips together firmly, There’s something I need to tell you, Susie. </p><p>I didn’t look at him but my ears were at full attention.</p><p>Your mother’s gotten remarried, Honey she won’t be coming back.</p><p>It was exactly the opposite beginning for the next chapter that I’d been praying for. Silently, my father filled the tank, paid, and got back into the car.</p><p>Later, as we neared our destination, my father took my hand and said quietly, Life doesn’t always give us what we want, Susie. But it does give us time. And it may take awhile, but time heals all wounds.</p><p>My father’s deep blue eyes blazed fiercely in their anger. That sorry bastard, I’d like to kill him. He slammed his beer can down on the kitchen table. He’s not just leaving you, he’s deserting three helpless kids, the little </p><p>Daddy, please, the kids will hear you.</p><p>As he tried to take a deep breath, he began to cough. The bouts of coughing came more frequently now, and left him breathless and pale. When the doctors had operated, they’d closed him almost immediately. It was far too late to do anything but share as many moments as we could in the few months he had left.</p><p>Remember what you always told me, Daddy? I forced myself to say the words I wasn’t sure I believed anymore, God knows what He’s doing.</p><p>He nodded his head and a sad smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Yes He does, Sweetheart. It’s just hard to remember that sometimes.</p><p>As I stood at my father’s grave, a warm May breeze caressed my wet cheek. Cold earth would now envelope the arms that had always held me up, the hands that had kept my hands steady. </p><p>I guess we’re at a different kind of chapter, I whispered to the mound of softly turned earth, a beginning and an ending all rolled into one, huh?</p><p>A shaft of sunlight crossed overhead and burned warm against my face. I must learn to walk differently now. A little shaky but straighter now, afraid, yet not alone. </p><p>My father left me a little over a hundred dollars, a watch, a wallet with my children’s pictures in it, and a tiny insurance policy. </p><p>And </p>